


Lost In The Prescription

by unlockedlips



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drug Abuse, Ex-Cop Diego, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nobody is Dead, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Incest, Not Siblings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, but I promise it's okay!!, except not really, like guns and punching and fire and maybe explosions lmao, someone does die, wait fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-05-14 17:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19278445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlockedlips/pseuds/unlockedlips
Summary: Diego always knew what he wanted in life-- a small house to call his own in the hometown he loved so dearly, a gun and a badge with his name on it, and the ability to look outside his front window to see the sun set behind the mountainside. Everything seemed within reach until Umbrella Pharmaceuticals found a nice plot of land across the street to call home. With a long list of tabloid-worthy scandals, Diego tried his hardest to stop Reginald Hargreeves, founder and CEO of the company, from setting his hooks into the town, and it cost him everything.Now, five years later, Benjamin Lee has gone missing, and Diego is faced with the realization that whatever Reginald is doing is a hell of a lot more sinister than he ever anticipated. With the help of a young and dedicated detective from the city, Reginald's junkie son, and a mysterious author, Diego begins to unravel the secrets Reginald has so carefully hidden in the side effects of the medication he manufactures.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea came to me while driving way the fuck upstate to go hiking. On the way to the state park, we drove past this tiny little town with this giant pharmaceutical company right smack dab in the middle of it, and that's how this story was born. 
> 
> I'll be honest, this is my first stab at a planned multi-chaptered fic that's plot heavy so.... be warned. There will be inconsistencies and lazy writing but I promise it'll be entertaining and gay??? So like... can you really complain?
> 
> Fair warning, each chapter will be written from a different POV, but will be heavily focused on Diego's and Klaus's story.

They say that word travels fast in a small town. Meaning that in a place where the population is less than 1,500, word travels faster than the speed of light. A whispered word from a nosy neighbor is all it takes before the choir director at the local Methodist church is telling the owner of the general store who then passes on the juicy gossip to anyone who’s willing to buy the two-for-one venison jerky that’s on sale. The whole affair is quite grotesque, much like the way a sexually transmitted disease is passed between partners, and Diego’s never really found a way to protect himself against the onslaught of gossip except to keep his head down and his mouth shut, a lesson he learned far too late in life.

It’s not that Diego isn’t a fan of rural living. East Durham is by far the nicest, quintessential American town in the whole of the country as far as he’s concerned. He’s grown up here. His family instilled in him the meaning of hard work because up here, there’s no other way to live. The land gives them what they need, and the rest can be bought at the Dollar General down the road. When his parents decided that the brutal winters were too much for their aging bones, Diego made the choice to stay in his little slice of heaven. Where else could he wake up to the blazing sun rising above the rolling hillsides of the mountain range he’s always called home?

It’s just that word travels a little too quickly for him, and he really fucking hates gossip.

Five years ago, gossiping was unheard of outside of the normal scandal you’d expect in a place so far removed from the mainstream. Bastard children being born out of wedlock, a sordid affair between the preschool teacher and the bus driver, old Earl hollering and whistling at a group of teenaged girls. The sort of rumors Diego could brush off, even laugh at. But that all changed five years ago when Umbrella Pharmaceuticals announced a plan to place its headquarters a few miles down the road from the center of town. That’s when the real rumors started to fly.

_“I heard that the CEO has a pet chimp that can speak using sign language.”_

_“I heard his son is a junkie.”_

_“Well, I heard they steal aborted fetuses and run experiments on them.”_

_“I heard the head of their security department is really hot.”_

_“I heard that the company was involved in a missing person’s case back on the west coast. Something about a 15 year old boy who vanished after a clinical trial.”_

“Hey, I heard if I wanted to get some information on Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, you were the person to ask.”

Diego is forced back to the present by a commanding voice that rises above the din of the bar he manages. He doesn’t have to look up to know who she is, though his manners force him to anyway. Word of mouth travels quickly after all, and a detective from Manhattan visiting these parts is certainly more entertaining than guessing who Shelley from the corner gas station is spreading her legs for this week. According to literally every person he’s spoken to that day, she arrived early that morning in a no-nonsense black car with a no-nonsense black turtleneck on that screamed of an anti-social disposition. He looks up and takes in that very same turtleneck and thinks, maybe it’s not as bad as they made it seem. It fits her like a goddamn glove.

“So you’re that city cop they’ve been talking about,” he says gruffly, wiping his hands off on the ragged cloth he’d been using to polish the bar and then tucking it into the belt of his bar apron. “Sorry. Don’t know anything. But I can get you a drink if you’d like.”

Her eyes travel from his face and then up and down his body, as if weighing in on his haggard appearance. He knows what he looks like, tired and careworn with his stained black t-shirt and patchy beard that’s curled over his chin. His hair has skipped the overgrown phase and gone straight into unkempt. He fits right in with the patchwork patrons, stitched together by worn coveralls and missing teeth. Maybe he used to look more polished, maybe he used to care, but those days have long since passed. If she thinks he looks like a washed up has-been, well, she’d be right.

“And you’re the guy they kicked off the police force for being too nosy, and instead of doing anything about your suspicions, you became a half-assed bartender. My name’s Eudora, but you can call me Detective Patch.” She digs out her badge and holds it out for him to glimpse, calculating the pinched eyebrows of his hurt expression and not showing an ounce of forgiveness for putting it there. “What do you have on tap?”

Diego grunts, torn between telling her to fuck off and breathing a sigh of relief. She’s not the stuck up, pretentious little shit he expected the city to send up here. It’s clear she’s got balls which is good because that’s the only way she’s going to make any headway with this case. Maybe she’ll be able to do what he couldn’t.

“Drink menu’s right beside you. And before you ask, I don’t know anything about what happened to Ben, alright? One day he’s teaching English to a bunch of kids and the next, he’s vanished. So you can go question someone else.”

Benjamin Lee had moved up from some pretty little city hours away to teach the poor, unfortunate upstate redneck children English after receiving an expensive degree from some state college. Just a year after Umbrella Pharmaceuticals had laid claim, Diego hadn’t been too keen on anymore newcomers, but Ben had surprised him. He was a kind soul with a timid fortitude that made you fall in love with him. He had a true passion to help the children, and even the librarian Susan McGhee would tell you that more books had been checked out in the months after his arrival than in all her time at the public library.

It was a real shame that Reginald Hargreeves had gotten his greasy hands on him, but that seemed par for the course lately. No one was safe from his reach.

“Let’s say I believe you. Let’s say you don’t know anything. I’m sure you have your suspicions though, right Diego? The local precinct gave me your file. I know all about your conspiracy theories. Townsfolk called you crazy, petitioned to have you removed from the force after a few words from Mr. Hargreeves.” Patch leans on the bar so naturally as she mulls over the laminated menu, trailing her fingers down the list of beers until she taps on the one that she wants.

“Then you also know that the local precinct has labeled me a nut job which means you can’t trust anything I say,” Diego hisses, feathers officially ruffled. Still, he grabs a frosted glass from the fridge and fills her glass to the rim before pushing it toward her. Some of the froth spills over the edge and splatters the sleeve of her leather jacket, and he can’t find it within himself to feel the least bit bad about it. “Told you already, I don’t know shit.”

And that’s what’s killing him about all of this. He’s so sure the disappearance of Ben is linked to Aidan, the missing teenager from Washington which is obviously connected to the one and only Reginald Hargreeves. But there’s no evidence. After the local police had checked the premises of Ben’s tiny cabin once the school reported him missing, Diego had broken in with nothing more than a lock picking kit and a flashlight to help him locate any evidence. But everything was squeaky clean, quite literally speaking. The counters, the walls, the doorknobs. No prints, no dust, nothing. The whole place screamed of a cover up because no one, literally no one could live in a house that clean.

“What if I told you I believed you? What if I told you I had evidence your precinct didn’t seem to care about?” A spark catches her eye as she brings the glass to her lips and takes a haughty sip as if she knows he won’t be able to resist the information she’s so tantalizingly dangled in front of his face.

“Then I’d tell you to keep your voice down before someone hears you unless you want to end up like me.” He hisses his warning between clenched teeth, glancing at the bar warily. A few patrons have noticed her presence, their gazes lingering over them before catching Diego’s in a far more sinister warning.

“Touche,” she grins, raises her glass in the air to salute their tentative camaraderie. “I’ll hang around here until you get off as long as you keep feeding me drinks.”

“Depends, do you tip well?”

“Oh, of course I do,” she winks at him, and Diego takes it for exactly what it is-- face value flirting. If she had shown up a few years prior, he would have been all over her. Eudora Patch is exactly his type with her serious eyes and no-nonsense hair style. But even under her slicked back ponytail, he can see how the hard edge she carries in her shoulders is just a front. Her frame is small but soft, accentuated by the tight turtle neck that clings to her like a second skin under her badly tailored blazer. A couple of drinks, a few well-timed jokes and he’d have her eating out of his palm and following him back to his modest house for a fun night, but he’s not that person anymore, hasn’t been in a very long time.

Despite her teasing, Eudora sips her drink at a snail’s pace as Diego rushes to keep his customers happy. The thing about working at a bar is that it’s not all about the drinks. It’s the atmosphere that keeps people coming. The building itself carries more character than Diego ever hopes to have with its exposed high beams and rustic iron stools. An ancient jukebox, cracked and flickering in the corner plays a country tune through its tinny speakers while two women on their fourth glass of wine sing along loudly, their shirts riding up to reveal their midriffs. He doesn’t belong here, and the truth of it makes him stick out among the crowd even as he forces a smile and refills drink after drink.

He should be back out in his uniform, gun at his hip, doing what he does best--protecting what he loves. Just like Reginald stole that young boy, just like he stole the town’s trust, he took Diego’s chance at having a future he could be proud of and crushed it. Five years and the anger still burns up his spine. If he were a better person, he’d work with Patch simply to help Ben, but there’s so much more to it than that. He wants revenge. He wants to tear down Umbrella Pharmaceuticals brick by brick until Reginald knows what it’s like to stand in front of this town stripped of everything. Let him experience the shame, the embarrassment. Let him know what it’s like to have lost it all.

As the night carries on, the bar begins to empty, leaving only a few stragglers behind. The men who linger are regulars. Diego used to call them his friends, even went out drinking with them once or twice when he was on the force. He feels their eyes burning a hole in his back as he flips the chairs onto the tops of the empty table. They whisper between themselves as they glance at Patch who’s still perched on her stool. It doesn’t take much to put two and two together, and Diego sighs. By this time tomorrow, everyone in this town and the next two over will know that Diego’s working with her to bring a stop to Reginald’s reign.

“You better watch yourself,” one man grumbles as he throws a wad of crumpled bills down onto the table.

“Hey, man, thanks for the warning,” Diego grins, all teeth and no warmth. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Might wanna cool it with the Bud Light. You’re getting a little soft around the edges.”

There’s a quick flash of disbelief on his face followed by white hot rage, quelled only by the hand of his friend that stops him from lunging at Diego.

“Think you’re funny, huh? Yeah, I thought so too back before you went all crazy. Real shame too. You woulda made a good cop. But hey, look at us now. The town’s fucking thriving, and it’s no thanks to your meddling. So why don’t you back the fuck off and let us handle our business?” He makes a pointed look at Patch who seems bored by the interaction. She barely spares them a glance from the backlit screen of the phone in her hand.

Diego waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, heard it before. Now get out. We’re closed.”  
They file out reluctantly, grumbling half-baked threats under their breath. Diego follows after them, slamming the door forcefully behind them and flipping the lock. He waits until they pile into their rusted vehicles, waits a second longer to make sure no one’s lingering out in the parking lot before he turns his attention back to the detective. No telling who’s listening these days.

“So what’d you find?” The question has been eating at him all night long. “And why the hell do you need my help? Seems like you’ve got it covered just fine.”

“Your guys didn’t seem too keen on helping me, and I’ll be honest with you, Diego, I don’t like this case. Not one bit. You know what happened to the detective assigned to the missing boy in Washington? They found him dead, three months later. Name was Lupo. He was in tip-top shape for a sixty-year old man, but coroner says he died of a heart attack. Something about that just doesn’t add up, so sue me if I want a little bit of backup.” Eudora digs through the leather bag strapped across her chest, rifling through the contents before she pulls out a manilla folder that she throws onto the counter. “That’s everything I’ve got on Reginald, and I’m willing to bet you’ve pieced together even more considering he’s living in your backyard. Go ahead, take a look.”

Gingerly, Diego picks up the file and flips through the papers. His eyes catch on images and phrases--the smiling face of a teenaged prodigy, a sneer hidden behind a monocle, tired smudged eyeliner framed in a mugshot, and finally the bright eyes of a missing teacher. He stops on the last photo, and Ben’s friendly expression looks up at him as if to ask why he hadn’t done more to stop this from happening. It makes his stomach turn, makes him want to close the file and forget about it, but he can’t run from this, not anymore. Carefully, he turns the photo over to find a bank account statement in Ben’s name with a hefty deposit from Umbrella Pharmaceuticals circled in bright red ink.

“Wait… Reginald was paying him? For what?” Diego asks, scanning the rest of the statement for any other unsavory transactions.

“Far as I can tell, it was a one time payment of one thousand dollars. I checked Aidan’s records, and sure enough, the same deposit hit his bank account the day before he was reported missing.”

“Shit,” Diego swears, finally looking up from the file. “I saw this ad in the paper the other day. Something about signing up for clinical trials. You think that’s what Ben did?”

Eudora nods her head slowly, nibbling at her bottom lip as she mulls it over in his mind. “That’s exactly what I think. But why’d he go missing? Umbrella Pharmaceuticals runs trials all over the country, and so far, Aidan and Ben are the only two reported cases of missing persons. It doesn’t add up.”

“No, it doesn’t. But without any hard evidence, you’re not going to get anywhere. You think Hargreeves is going to let you into his company without a warrant?” Diego snorts and tosses the file back onto the bar. “It’s useless. His legal team is probably burning every record of Ben as we speak. You’ve got nothing.”

“So what? That means we should just give up?” Patch raises her voice. “You might be willing to let this go, but there’s a chance Ben could still be out there. He might still be alive. I’m not willing to let that go.”

“Look, I get it. Everything going through your head right now? Yeah, I was there five years ago before anyone went missing. Hargreeves is doing something shady, but I can’t do shit to prove it.”

“I’m not looking for you to do that! That’s my job, or do I need to show you my badge again? What I need is someone good with the locals, someone who can tell me who to question, what to ask them, whatever it takes. They won’t trust me, but they trust you.”

“Yeah well… I’m not so sure about that anymore.”

Eudora looks like she’s about to open her mouth to argue with him when a loud clatter followed by a startled yelp cuts off her train of thought. Her hand immediately falls to the concealed weapon at her hip as she stands, eyes wide on Diego.

“Please tell me that was a raccoon or a bear or something.”

“Nope. Too loud. Someone’s back there. C’mon.” Diego fumbles under the cash register, moving extra rolls of receipt tape and rolled coins to grab the gun he’s stashed in case of emergencies. When he stands with the pistol in hand, he flashes a grin at Patch who only rolls her eyes.

“Seriously? A gun?”

“What? I’ve got my permit. You want to see it, officer, or do you want to catch whoever’s out back?” He doesn’t wait for her response as he clicks the safety off and makes his way down the narrow corridor to the back door, wondering who the hell could be out back. Thoughts drift to the men from earlier, to the way their eyes had lingered between himself and Patch and the shoddy threats thrown their way, and his fingers tighten to a white-knuckled grip on the cold metal. As they approach the exit, the sounds of rustling only get louder, accompanied by disgruntled sighs.

Patch grabs his shoulder, silently motions for him to stop and then furiously whispers, “Hey, I’m the cop here, remember? Get behind me.” And for a second, it seems like she honestly believes he’s going to do what she said until he dramatically rolls his eyes and shoulders through the back door, pistol brandished in front of him.

“You’ve got five seconds to tell me what the fuck you’re doing on my property before I start shooting.”

“ _Shit_. Diegooooo! You scared me!” There’s a wild gasp from the dumpster and more frantic rustling before an annoyingly familiar face pops up above the rusted metal.

“Klaus. What the _fuck_ , man? You could’ve gotten shot. Actually, tell me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you for trespassing.”

“Because you have the best dumpster fries in town,” he grins and holds up a styrofoam takeout box he must have fished out of the dumpster. To Diego’s horror, he takes a soggy fry and pops it into his mouth, smacking his lips like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever tasted. “And I was so hungry and you had already closed for the night. Tell me, have you considered extending your hours of operation? Two A.M. snack runs is a highly lucrative business, and I can promise you I’d be your best paying customer.”

Diego snorts. “That’s because you’d be my only customer.”

“Now hang on, give me a sec to understand what’s going on here,” Patch interrupts as her gun falls uselessly to the side. “Because I’m pretty sure he just called you Klaus which means you must be the son of Reginald Hargreeves?”

Klaus bends at the waist in his own mockery of a bow. “The one and only. You make it sound far more glamorous than it is. Do you want my autograph? I’m afraid I don’t have a pen or paper, but hm… hang on…” He dives back into the collection of rubbish, muttering under his breath before he pops back up, triumphantly holding a crumpled napkin. “Here! I can sign this!”

Eudora leans over to Diego, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

Diego shakes his head. Like most of his interactions with Klaus, he’s not quite sure what to make of his grandiose displays of drug-fueled idiocy. “He’s high,” he states matter-of-factly. “Alright, man, you gotta leave some of the fries for the racoons. Time to get out. I’ll take you home. Get you in bed.”

It’s not like it’s the first time he’s done it over the past few years. Klaus, for some reason, took one look at Diego and decided it was his sole purpose in life to inconvenience the bartender at any given moment. Sometimes that meant binge drinking in the bathroom stall and coating the walls in vomit, other times it meant trying to seduce each of his customers with lewd dancing displays and rounds of free drinks he never actually paid for at the end of the night. Still, he can’t find it within himself to turn the man away.

“Why, Diego, dear, you’re so forward tonight! I’ve been trying to get you to take me to bed for the past three years.”

Diego feels heat rush to his face, and he’s glad for the cover of darkness so Eudora can’t see the way his skin turns red. Klaus is always doing this, forever getting under his skin, taunting him in ways that leave him infuriatingly annoyed and lonely. He’s sure it’s become a game to Klaus, and despite how much Diego tries to be unaffected, Klaus always seems to be winning.

“You know if you had a date out in the dumpsters, you could have told me,” Eudora laughs and steps in front of him to offer Klaus a hand down. “I’ve been looking for you since I got here. I’m Detective Patch. I’m here to find Benjamin Lee. Did you know him?”

It’s like a flip switches. Gone is the carefree man with a wicked gleam in his eye. Diego watches as Klaus shrinks in on himself even as he reaches out to grab Eudora’s hand. His shoulders curve as he looks down at the barren ground under his boot-clad feet.

“I did. No, I _do_ ,” he corrects himself firmly and holds both of Eudora’s hands within his own. “He is the sweetest man I’ve ever met, and believe me, if I knew what happened to him, I’d tell you everything in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, Daddy Dearest doesn’t trust me which… I suppose makes sense considering I’m talking to you right now. I want to help but I’m afraid I’m as useless as teats on a boar hog.” He pauses, and just like that, the switch flips back to on. “I heard that saying during my travels down south in the wilds of the Carolinas. Isn’t it funny? Every time I say it, I have to laugh. Teats on a boar hog! What does that even mean?”

There’s a moment of silence where Eudora looks to Diego for guidance, but he can only shake his head. This is Klaus at his finest, at his most put together, and he still doesn’t make any sense.

“I think… Diego was right. Why don’t you let him take you home and if I have any questions, I’ll ask tomorrow?” Patch says gently, and Klaus nods as he gathers his jacket tightly around his shoulders. He shuffles toward Diego with a smile on his lips, one that uncharacteristically does not meet his eyes.

Diego touches Klaus’s back lightly to guide his unsteady legs away from the back of the bar, and Klaus leans toward him, maybe for warmth, maybe for comfort, maybe for something else entirely. He’s long since given up on trying to understand the whys behind Klaus’s actions. The man is a creature of comfort, hedonistic in all that he does. Feeling good is his only motive, and while Diego’s stomach might flutter when Klaus’s hand grazes his own, he refuses to be another crutch for Klaus to lose himself.

“If you find anything new, let me know. I’ll work on seeing if I can get you any leads for questioning,” Diego calls back to Patch, and she nods her head vigorously. The cool wind picks up, a sinister rustling of whispering leaves that makes Diego feel like they’ve been listening this whole time. The town isn’t safe anymore. It hasn’t been since they poured the concrete foundation of Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, and it won’t be until Diego can find a way to stop Reginald.

As Diego opens the passenger side door to his car, Klaus stops him with a hand on his chest, fingers dancing a nervous rhythm against his sternum. “It was him,” he says, dangerously quiet as the wind rushes through them. “Don’t ask me how I know it, but it was him, Di. If you try to stop him, he’s going to come for you next.”

Diego looks into Klaus’s blown-black eyes, feeling a mixture of sick anxiety and fear, but under that is the knowledge that if it comes down to that, he’s willing to face whatever challenge Reginald throws his way. He’s already lost the career of his dreams and the trust of his neighbor’s. What else does he have to lose?

“C’mon, get in the car. Gotta get you home before you pass out.”

Klaus sighs and withdraws, curling into himself as he slips into the worn leather seats, and the loss of his touch is enough to make Diego shiver in the cold. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he’s got something left to lose after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Safe.

Ask a thousand children where they feel safest, and their answers will paint the picture of a life full of comfort and love. Safety is the feeling of a mother’s arms wrapped tight around shaking shoulders and the gentle wash of her perfume as she places a band-aid on a skinned knee. Safety is the scratchy press of a father’s kiss against a damp forehead, clammy with fever as he promises not to leave the bedside until sleep comes. It’s the four walls of a bedroom painted in bright, garish colors, every inch of the surface covered in hand drawn treasure maps and perfect stick-figure portraits of playful siblings and the floppy ears of a dog.

If someone were to ask Klaus, he’d say it was right here in Diego’s car with the windows rolled down and the tinny stereo pumping out 80's hip-hop. Is it unconventional? Sure, of course it is, but since he never knew the comforts of a traditional childhood, he’ll take what he can get. 

Klaus sinks into the worn leather seats of the ‘86 Chevy Caprice like he might slip between the sheets of his bed. These stolen moments are what he looks forward to when he wakes up in the morning. Out on the streets, he’s known as Reginald Hargreeve’s useless son, a total waste of perfect genetics. He didn’t inherit his father’s drive for money nor his mind for science. But in here, when Diego looks at him, he’s just Klaus.

“You’re quiet tonight. Not that I’m complaining,” Diego glances at him as he takes a sharp turn a little too fast. Klaus has to hold onto the door to keep from sliding into him, and it makes him giggle like a child on a roller-coaster. He thinks he might see Diego smile for a brief moment, but when the glow of the streetlight catches his face, it’s as stoic as it was before. Klaus blinks owlishly at him, never quite wanting to look away from his unique features.

“Do you think Ben is dead?” The question is out before he can swallow it back down and the resounding silence tells him it was a thought better left unsaid. Diego’s hands tighten on the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. For a moment, he wonders if Diego is mad at him, if he’s going to swerve onto the shoulder and make Klaus walk the rest of the way home. Though it’s never been directed at him, Klaus has seen Diego’s explosive temper, a fiery, righteous thing that is merciless once provoked. 

“You’d probably know the answer to that better than I do,” Diego says after a long moment. Klaus watches as he takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out between his clenched teeth as he tries to keep the floodgate closed, no doubt against an onslaught of questioning Klaus isn’t prepared to face while high.

“I think…” Klaus begins carefully, finally able to tear his gaze away from Diego’s silhouette, “I think that if someone doesn’t find him soon, he will be. I also think you and Detective Patch are right. My dad’s responsible, and I hate that I can’t do anything to prove it. And I think maybe you should slow down because you’re about to miss my stop. Turn left, right here.”

Diego swears and turns the wheel hard to the left, the tires of his old car kicking up gravel as he turns into this week’s shitty motel.This time, Klaus does fall into Diego’s shoulder, giggling as his world turns sideways for a moment. He stays, maybe for a moment too long, as Diego makes his way into the parking lot. It’s just that… Diego’s nice. He really is under that tough guy persona he’s wrapped around himself.

“This isn’t the same place you were staying at last week,” Diego lifts an eyebrow at Klaus as he pulls into an empty spot.

“Ah, yes, the Irish Castle, number one rated motel off of Main Street, decided that I didn’t fit their family friendly style. Can you blame them?” Klaus grins salaciously, noting with distinct pleasure that Diego’s cheeks have turned an awfully flattering shade of dusty rose. “They gave me the boot along with a lovely letter from their legal team saying that if I step foot onto their property again, they’ll have me arrested. Shame you’re not a cop anymore. I’d love for you to cuff me.”

Diego coughs, caught between shock and laughter.

“All because you’re… eccentric?” he settles on after a lengthy pause. What other words were on the tip of his tongue, Klaus muses to himself. 

“That and maybe also because I set the curtains in my room on fire.”

This does get a genuine laugh out of Diego, a rare sound that Klaus tries so desperately to pull from him every time he’s in this damn car. He’s never seen anyone make Diego laugh, not a true one. Sure, he’ll give a chuckle when his customers’ drunken antics pass into the realm of ridiculousness, and yeah, Klaus has caught him in the middle of a derisive snort when those same antics get someone bruised, but only Klaus gets to hear this sound. It’s full-bodied and bright, everything Diego was before they moved into town. 

Guilt eats at Klaus’s spine with a voracity that threatens to leave him paralyzed.

When Diego’s laughter dies down and the crinkles on the corner of his eyes soften, he turns to look at Klaus and levels a look with such uncharacteristic sincerity that Klaus is caught between the urge to hide his face and never look away. Diego opens his mouth, closes it again, and it would be the perfect time to make a joke about him looking distinctly like a fish out of water if Klaus wasn’t so preoccupied with wondering about what’s rendered him speechless. He’s about to prompt him when Diego finally sighs and shakes his head, turning to look at the numbered, orange colored doors in front of him.

“Think you can make it in without busting your ass?”  
“Maybe. I know for sure I can with the help of the miniature giraffe in your backseat. Unless of course that’s just a hallucination. It’s hard to tell with all the,” Klaus flails his hands around his head vaguely, “genetic experiments they’re doing these days.”

Diego shakes his head, not for the first time that night as he fixes Klaus with an incredulous look. “Christ man, half the time I can’t tell when you’re joking or not.”

“That makes two of us then.”

For whatever reason, Diego must not believe that the imaginary four legged friend in the backseat is going to offer much help because before Klaus can even think about unbuckling his seatbelt, he’s wrenching Klaus’s door open and pulling him up by a hard grip on his arm. Klaus stands, a giggle on his lips as his world shifts. The stars above him blur, the ground beneath him turns, but Diego is an unmoving force that keeps him steady. Klaus leans heavily into him, partly because he really is too high to walk in a straight line and partly because this is the only time he’s allowed to get this close.

“Which room is yours?” Diego leads him down the long line of motel rooms while Klaus watches the moths flock to the flickering lights that highlight the peeling paint and brass numbers.

“Love potion number nine, baby,” Klaus breathes out a delirious laugh, and Diego’s grip tightens, fingers digging into the meat of his arms just this side of too rough. It’s a precipice Diego teeters on with every touch he gives. He’s too sharp, bruising fingers and dagger tongue, but Klaus has always loved to lick his own wounds.

They make it to Klaus’s room and he fumbles with his keys, dropping them and stumbling around to reach them before Diego takes over with a frustrated sigh. He should be embarrassed by the state of the room, really he should be. He clicks the light on, a nasty fluorescent yellow that showcases the water stains on the ceiling and the brown shag carpeting that’s seen better days. He almost expects Diego to make a sarcastic quip about being able to afford better, but instead he pushes Klaus toward the bed.

“Ooh!” Klaus huffs as he lands on the mattress and the springs groan under his slight weight. “You really are feeling forward tonight, aren’t you? Next time I vote we stay at your place. I’m sure the amenities are better.”

Diego blushes again, doesn’t meet Klaus’s eyes as he finds a relatively clean plastic cup and fills it with tap water from the kitchenette sink before shoving it unceremoniously in Klaus’s hand.

“Drink up or you’ll feel like shit in the morning.”

Klaus snorts (a glass of water won’t do much to clear his system of the steady stream of poison he pumps into it), but tips the water back down his throat to make Diego happy. It tastes like iron as it slides down to settle hard in his empty stomach, the contents sloshing in a way that makes him feel sick. The metal aftertaste lingers on his tongue like a bloodstain, and he chokes, coughing and spluttering like his body is doing whatever it can to expel the water from his system. A heavy hand slaps his back and the force is enough to dislodge the liquid caught in his throat. Diego looks down at him with his heavy brow furrowed in concern. How long has it been since someone looked at him like that? Since someone saw something to be protected in him and didn’t brush him off as a nuisance. Diego’s hand rubs up the notches of his spine to rest against the back of his neck for a brief moment before he lets go and steps back.

 

“Stay with me until I fall asleep?” Klaus says quietly. It’s a childish request, vulnerable and quiet in a way that contradicts everything that he usually is. His fingers pick at a loose thread on the thin comforter, unraveling the seam as his heartbeat quickens in his chest. He doesn’t really know why he asks Diego to stay. Maybe it’s because the come down has settled in his bones and his muscles are beginning to ache. Maybe it’s because the nights up here are long and cold, filled only with the sound of the howling wind. Or maybe it’s because his stubborn ego is too strong to let these fragile, sweet moments go. He craves them much like he craves the liquid burn of cheap liquor down his throat or the rush of endorphins after choking on too many pills. Whatever the reason, he can’t meet Diego’s eyes when he finally speaks up.

“What are you? A five year old?” Diego grumbles but the mattress dips as he sits down on the corner of the bed much to Klaus’s delight. He reaches over to twist the switch on the lamp, and the room is plunged in darkness. The room is filled with noises as old structures are wont to do. The pipes as his neighbor flushes his toilet rattle and groan, the wooden beams in the ceiling strain against the howling wind, and down the length of the motel, a fire alarm’s shrill song echoes, but all Klaus can hear is the steady inhale exhale of Diego’s breath. It’s sweeter than any lullaby his nanny ever sang, and for a moment, the chilling thoughts, the nightmarish worries, all of the bad that he has stored in the hellscape of his mind are silently entranced by its sound.

Klaus isn’t sure how long it takes for him to fall asleep or how long Diego stays by his side once his thoughts become too foggy to follow, but he thinks he feels the gentle touch of fingers through his hair and a whispered “goodnight” in his ear between dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had big plans for this chapter, really I did. There was going to be plot and backstory and all of this really cool stuff and instead, it ended up being really really gay. Oh well! I felt like it was important to delve deeper into the relationship Klaus and Diego share in this AU. Though their dynamics are obviously different in this setting, the connection they share still mirrors the one they have in the show. Klaus is reckless and starving for something soft, something sweet, while Diego is torn between leaving Klaus to his mistakes and protecting him from himself. 
> 
> The next chapter will still be from Klaus's perspective, and we'll get a glimpse of his childhood while also getting a taste of what sinister plans Reginald has for Umbrella Pharmaceuticals.
> 
> As always, please tell me what you think! I always love to hear your opinions, whether good or bad.


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